Red Roses
by Adreus
Summary: As a girl she was always fascinated with red. —Zelda.


_**# 33 - Seeing Red**_

I've been having Writer's Block lately, and this is what broke it. I guess it's in preparation for Valentine's Day. It really just came to me one night. I remember that whenever I'd open a door I'd be afraid that some bright red eyes would be there waiting to be the end of me… I don't know why I ever thought that. But, here it is, Red Roses.

_Red Roses _

As a young girl she was always fascinated with red – be it deep, be it rich, be it burning or boiling. For what other than the color red represented to her heart both pain and love? What else could have shown her the simplest pleasure, while the spiky thorns of a red rose pricked her delicate fingers?

Indeed, what was it that made such a color so beautiful yet so dangerous?

Always she'd loved staring out her window, watching the sun both set and rise, simply because of the pleasure she received upon seeing the warm colors paint the sky. When she could, she'd even go out on her balcony, watching still. She never tired of allowing the simply beauties life had to offer into her heart.

When she was asked what her favorite color was, she'd instantly reply 'red,' because she'd mused about things like this during the countless hours she was required to sit through boring meetings with important people like her daddy. What else was a bored girl to do when in such a boring atmosphere, other then allow her thoughts to roam free? With all do respect, she didn't particularly enjoy those dull grey meetings.

She was told by her nursemaid that as she grew older, the meetings would slowly gain the colors she desired to see in them. She was told that they'd by blue and green and white and black, instead of just the grey that was all that she had witnessed so far.

Nevertheless, she wasn't very excited. Her friend neglected to mention that those shades of green and blue were dull and dusty. No where near the bright vibrant colors she had come to love.

Again still, she gave the committees and long, boring speeches and meetings a few more chances as she grew older still, but she knew in her heart that she wouldn't ever come to like them. What _did _those men see in these meetings? They were awfully boring and always seemed to be about the same minuscule issues such as what should be on the currency or how much they should pay the royal guards.

So again, she began to drift away and muse over those silly things such as her favorite colors that she had done so often as a child.

She thought about her mother. Her mother had had white, almost pale, skin when she had known her. She was merely a toddler when her mother was still alive, struggling with what had grown to be her memory. She remembered only small details, such as those warm kisses on her cheeks from her mother's rosy lips.

She thought about the blood. The blood that had dripped down her nose, a cruel warmth that she'd felt when she'd been running around a bit too much one evening. Then she remembered the darker, deeper, crimson that was on her mother's lifeless face when she'd been assassinated.

She thought about her favorite dress. It was a delicate, pink dress that was fun to move around in because it made that swishy sound she always giggled at. It was soft against her skin and to this day she disliked her father because he'd made her get rid of it when it had become too small for her some long time ago.

She thought about that boy. A young ten-year-old boy, whose face danced with innocence as he told her his name. His cheeks were tinted a bright red when she saw him, for he'd been running as quickly as he could to meet her Highness so as to be safe from the guards. She remembered his bright green tunic, and how she was fascinated that one would wear such a bright, cheery color anywhere near the castle.

She thought about the sky. The night when it had changed from that pleasant baby-blue to that dark red she'd told her nursemaid that surely, the sky had broken. It wasn't normal for there to be a crimson sky in real life, she'd read many a times about such a thing in forgotten lore, but that of course was all fantasy.

She thought about her eyes. They were a glistening violent and had eventually grown to a soft, wise blue, but she alone knew what they had been in between. A tearful red. The Sheikah red, behind it burning an intense bolero. She's had those eyes for seven long years, accompanying a symbol of pain and loss that had been etched into her clothing – a red tear drop.

She thought about the constant fires. The lava and intense heat in the volcano, and the crackling of a village on fire echoed in her ears. She had thought about what to do, just thought about it, and when she had acted, it was too late. She came to hate those fires so much, because they put anyone and everyone in danger.

She thought about seeing him again, after seven long years. Without a red mask on them, her eyes became a soft blue that matched his. His and hers met, and they both had felt that hot feeling on one's cheeks that they get only when they blush deeply. What was it that had made them blush when they see each other after so long on that day?

She thought about the blood again. It seemed that there was so much blood that there was no stop to it. She saw the blood on the evil man's face. She remembered it on her hero, and the cold red upon the blade he carried. She even saw it speckled across her dress, and her eyes grew a bit red once again. Red because of the tears that had yet to step and just like the blood, did not seem to want to stop.

She thought about him once again. They were kids once more, and his bright cheeks no longer represented his being tired or out of breath. No, that time, she recalled, it had been because he had realized that he'd loved her. He extended forward a grubby hand in which was a small red and orange tulip.

She thought about his adventures. He had told her all about them, including about his doppelganger self. A dark shadow with glowing red-eyes. She remembered the shivers that went down her spine when she nearly screamed every time she opened a door, expecting to see those red, pupil-less eyes.

She thought about the roses. The constant roses he gave her every time they met, a blush now on her face rather than his. She often pricked her finger on the thorns of the red roses, causing him to laugh at her clumsiness than pull out a cloth to wrap her finger in.

She thought about the tears. When she saw that last red tunic, dripping with days old blood. She remembered crying for ages and ages. It wasn't fair, no, it wasn't fair at all… What had he done to deserve such a fate? He deserved to live more than anyone else…

She thought about his smile. It made her happy once more to remember that his pink lips were curved up only because of her presence. It was something new when he had had first done it, and she had never quite grown used to it, even then. All she knew was that she loved it when he smiled like that, and that she loved him.

She recalled those eyes.

Those bright red eyes…

They hated him, and they hated her.

Who would've known, that the red eyes of her darkened love would be the ones to end her?


End file.
